A Rude Awakening
by A Beautiful Irony
Summary: Dick wakes Bruce and Selina after a long night. As the couple goes about their morning routine, they comment on everything from rogues, to writers, to the cats and kids. Adorable domestic fluff coupled with a healthy dose of leaning on the fourth wall. Rated M for language.


A Rude Awakening

Peaceful darkness envelopes the bed's occupants, still lost in the shadowy world of dreams. Sound is hushed, lying dormant beneath the sheets. The only movement is the subtle rise and fall of their breathing.

Someone wrenches back the bed-curtains, raining sunlight down upon the exhausted couple.

"Get up, Management wants you on the floor in twenty." Dick Grayson, blasphemously cheerful at this hour of morning, stands above them, dressed, coifed, and entirely too presentable. Selina groans, trying to pull the covers up over her head. Beside her, Bruce shifts, sitting up.

"Where's Alfred," he asks Dick, running a hand through his hair.

"Busy."

Bruce rubs his face, hard, banishing his tiredness.

"What's the news?"

"I dunno, something about brainstorming ideas for a new arc."

Bruce grunts. "Which origin?"

"Uh, either Batman/Superman or Detective… I'm pretty sure they're just gonna have you pose on gargoyles all day, either way."

"Continuity?"

"Who knows anymore," the younger man snorts. Bruce cuts him a look.

"New 52," Dick shrugs.

Bruce and Selina groan simultaneously.

"Call in sick," Selina mumbles, reaching up to drag Bruce back down into the pillows.

"You can't," Dick says ruthlessly. "They're already scrambling out there. Comic industry's tanking. We're lucky to have jobs at this point."

"Speak for yourself," Selina growls.

"What are you talking about," Bruce adds. "We just finished those movies, Clark's making a comeback… and for all they like to brag about their hostile takeover at the box office, Stark and his team are doing just as much good for us as for themselves."

"As for their CG artists' bank accounts, you mean," Selina chuckles. Dick leans against a bedpost, looking up at the ceiling.

"Yeah, but the Nolan thing's finished now, and since your 'darker and grittier' makeover, they've been bending over backward to try and get some new material on the page. You can only die and come back to life so many times, Bruce."

"That hasn't happened yet in this continuity, has it?"

"Not as far as I know, but I don't write this shit." He looks at Selina. "Speaking of which, Nocenti wants you in costume at ten fifteen for more body-shots."

"Fuck," Selina groans. She manages to wrench herself upright with some assistance from Bruce, covering her nudity with the bedsheet. "Again? How many re-takes are we going to do for this stupid scene? It's bad enough she's got me more immature than that prissy knockoff from 2003 – and this new artist draws my hair like I've been electrocuted – but these poses! One more cheesecake shot and I'm going to go as mad as Harley. They have me bent like a pretzel in every goddamn frame. If I have to stick my ass out any farther, I'm going to need a chiropractor."

"Sorry, Sel," Dick says with some sympathy, his hand on the doorknob. "See you down there." Then he leaves, closing the door behind him. Selina sighs, leaning back against Bruce's chest. He nuzzles her neck a moment, then places his large hands on her shoulders, kneading the muscles there.

"Sorry about the contortionism," he says softly. Selina sighs contentedly, letting her head fall forward, relaxing into his touch.

"Hey, if it gets me a massage from Batman," she teases, smiling slightly. "Mm, that's nice. A little to the – ow – yeah. Right there."

He works the knot with his thumb, rubbing warm circles into the skin just above her shoulder blade.

"You're tight," he murmurs. She laughs.

"Gee, love, I could make a comment about that one, but then you'd get all flustered."

"And we're already late," he says, kissing the sore spot before moving to stand.

"Yeah," Selina says, rolling her shoulders. "I feel like I've been hit by a truck."

"You were." Bruce offers his hand, helping her to her feet. She stretches languorously, arms above her head, breasts heaving. They'd be spilling out of her dress if she were wearing one, Bruce notes with interest.

"Oh. Right," she yawns, taking a bra and a pair of underwear from a drawer, throwing them onto a chair. Then she pulls on a thin robe and moves into the bathroom. Bruce is already there, his face covered in shaving crème, the night's stubble slowly disappearing from his jawline.

"Damn, why does Eddie insist on transporting all the stupid props for his schemes himself?" she continues. "Those shades he wears aren't just for looks, the guy can't see worth a damn. Why doesn't he just go through a trucking company like all the other rogues? Or at least get one of his minions to do it."

There is a pause in conversation while the both of them finish their morning routines.

Feeling considerably more animated now that she's hygienic, Selina follows Bruce back into their room.

"Maybe I'll buy him a new pair of glasses," she muses. "Ones that aren't tinted to the point of being useless."

"Just don't let Nygma crack anything about the kitten crossing the road. He'd feel obligated to, and then he'd never live it down."

He shrugs on a white dress shirt. Selina smirks, coming over to button it for him.

"Was that a joke from my straight man?" He raises an eyebrow, adjusting his cuffs. She finishes the last button, then selects two ties from the closet, deliberating between them while Bruce pulls on his pants.

"Grey or grey today, my love," she asks sardonically. He smirks at her.

"Whichever you'd prefer."

"Red it is, then," she says. Bruce snickers.

"Brilliant choice, dear."

Selina tosses the two rejected ties on the mattress, hooking the elegant scarlet over her arm before reaching for the closest hanger with a skirt on it. What's the use in a classy wardrobe if they're just going to have her strip down to her skivvies anyway?

Clothed except for her shoes, Selina pads over to Bruce in her stocking feet, wrapping the chosen tie about his neck. She has often felt that one of the most useful skills in her extensive repertoire is knowing how to tie a knot properly. Her fingers expertly fold the material under and over itself. She slides the knot up to fit snugly against his throat, adjusts his collar, and then pulls him down for a quick kiss. It escalates almost immediately from a peck on the lips to something deeper, and ends with a leg around his hip and a hand in her shirt. The modest clang of the grandfather clock in the hall striking ten a.m. is what breaks them apart.

"Later," Bruce growls regretfully.

Selina hides a smile, adjusting her blouse. She is secretly pleased that she can still arouse that urgency in him, even now. After all, perpetual de-aging or no, it's been a while since 1939, and since they're still going at it like teenagers, they must be doing something right.

Even so, Selina thinks, standing before the vanity, one hand braced against its surface, the other efficiently applying her lipstick. She prefers it when the writers have them older, a little more weathered, a little more mature. It's nice, then, more like how they are when it's just the two of them together, eating dinner or wrangling the kids, or the rogues, or whoever needs it this time. The cats, usually.

She brushes on a light layer of eyeshadow, glancing at the clock near her elbow, then at Bruce. Two shoes and a suit jacket and he'll be good to go. She turns back to the mirror, picking up a comb.

Hush got pretty close. Downer of an ending, though. Honestly, is there a blood pact or what? Lately, it seems like everyone in the business is sworn to keep Batman and Catwoman from ever having a functional relationship. Nolan's the exception, and at least that's something, but he doesn't really count - too many nuclear holocausts subverted through impossible means. Selina appreciates his effort, though. Nice guy. Great director. Not a great scientist.

Selina sighs, sliding on her heels. Manolow Blahniks are nice – don't get her wrong, she's got nearly a wall in the enormous closet dedicated to them – but after last night, it's going to be a plain old pair of Jimmy Choos, black with a low heel, so maybe she can make it down the stairs this morning. She stands, shifting her weight in them.

"Ready to face the music," she asks. Bruce looks up at her words.

"Are you?"

Selina shrugs.

"Hell, what's one more spin on Joker's Wheel-of-Disrobing? I could use a few more temporary bat tattoos on my ass for people to comment on. Holly thinks it's hilarious."

"How is she doing, by the way?"

"Fine. College agrees with her, thank god."

"Good." He pulls on the rest of his suit, straightening the sleeves. Then he pauses.

"Are you really worried about Nocenti?" he asks. "If you think she's ruining your reputation…"

Selina exhales, brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes.

"Well," she pronounces. "It'll come back to bite her soon enough, if she doesn't clean up her act. Honestly, I still think she could turn it around, but I'm not optimistic. And she and I are going to have a problem if this goes on much longer."

"How so?" She gives him a look.

"Cats will crap in your shoes if you leave shit in the box," she says cryptically.

He shakes his head, amused.

"Poetic irony?"

"I prefer 'poetic justice'."

"Maybe I'll let Deadpool mention it to her," Bruce chuckles. Selina grins.

"Do that."

Bruce cups her face in his hand a moment, then sighs.

"Guess it's time to face that music, then."

"Shh, not so loud, they might make another musical," Selina laughs. Bruce smiles, brushing his lips against her cheek.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."


End file.
